Set Me Free
by adolt-affair
Summary: If it hadn't been for the periodical toilet flush or creaking bed-frame, she would have worried, but this was Quinn; a survivor. A little bent, but definitely not broken.
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

* * *

Judy Fabray of 239 Dudley Road spent the majority of her day standing in the kitchen, making pies for the bake sale at her church. They had been trying to raise money for members of the community who had lost their home and, with nowhere to go, ended up on the front steps of the parish. It was not a cause she would have found herself supporting under her ex-husband's watchful eye just two years earlier, but she had gone back to many of her old hobbies as of late; hence the pie-making. Plus, homelessness had become a cause she found heartbreaking and very personal.

So, on she baked.

The smell made her loneliness in the house less invasive, even if all she had to do was walk up the steps to remind herself she wasn't _really_ alone.

But that would not be appreciated.

She wasn't exactly sure what the proper amount of grieving should be when a life hadn't been lost, but clearly Quinn, her youngest daughter, hadn't had enough yet. Since the teenager had returned from her trip to visit her sister in Dayton, they hadn't spoken, continuing their tradition since she had moved back in. If Judy was grateful for anything in the world—and she wasn't for so many things in her life this far—it was that Quinn had found at least one friend to support her unwittingly in the face of her father's cruelty. And even if she doubted she would ever see the Jones' again after she picked her daughter up at the beginning of summer one year earlier, Judy knew she would be forever indebted to them after her own failings as a parent.

It didn't make her feel better that Quinn only spoke to her out of necessity anymore.

_'I need money for gas.'_

_ 'Of course, sweetie.'_

Then there would be a cringe and the blonde—eternally (or so she thought at the time) in her cheerleading outfit—would stiffly stick out her hand to accept whatever cash she had to offer. This continued for most of the school year as clubs needed membership fees and as homecoming and prom dresses hadn't become any cheaper.

Once this summer started, however, she stopped handing over every penny. The first time she smelt the smoke in Quinn's clothes as she washed them—something she did no longer as her daughter refused any and all niceties—she had half a mind to burn them. Instead, she marched out of the house, into the driveway and ransacked Quinn's car for as long as it took to find the half-empty pack of cigarettes. The package was torn and she could almost make out the crinkle where someone had attempted to crush it. She wished it had been a fluke, and had for a half-second wished Russell would have still been around to deal with the much-needed confrontation. But, her independence, and the independence of her daughter revolved around the determination that she could be a good parent.

She could barely blame Quinn for finding that determination laughable.

_"Who said I'm smoking them? Just because they're in my car doesn't mean anything."_

_ "Quinn, I'm not going to even ask where you got them. I just want to know why you would be so careless—"_

_ Her daughter sneered. "Careless? Me? What would have given you that idea?"_

The door slammed shut in her face and as far as she was concerned so did the access to her money.

It wasn't two weeks before she was handed a work permit for the local _Sheets & Things _and she signed off without a second glance.

Pies could be distracting, whether she had been mixing the filling or trimming the dough to fit the tins, but it would never be enough to stop her ears focusing in on the ceiling above her where she knew Quinn had been holed up for the last two months. If it hadn't been for the periodical toilet flush or creaking bed-frame, Judy would have worried, but this was _Quinn_; needless to say a survivor. A little bent, but definitely not broken.

A door in the house opened and Judy was on high alert. Quinn didn't come out during the day and she couldn't remember if she'd locked the door after coming home from the grocery store. Securing a knife from the drawer to her left, she backed up behind the fridge. The doorway was on the opposite side and she would at least have had a second to see who was attacking her before she had to retaliate. Before she had the opportunity, a voice she had only heard in melody rang through her house, startling Judy enough to drop the knife.

"Quinn?" the girl's voice called into the house. When nothing happened—Judy was glued to the tile floor—it continued. "You didn't answer my text message informing you I was here, I'm guessing?" Obviously this girl had never been in the Fabray house and was not aware that Quinn's bedroom was on the second floor, out of range for the volume of her voice no matter how assured or bold it tried. Even more obviously, she had very little knowledge of Quinn, whose door was shut ten-out-of-ten times in the recent months and had an even less inclination towards visitors that she had prior. "I don't know where you are..." Judy felt the voice's defeat and trepidation in her core; it was an entirely depressing and interesting moment for her.

All at once, the feeling left her as a short, brown-haired teenager passed through the kitchen with her eyes so far past the fridge that she could not have possibly seen her perched with a knife along the edge of the counter. Unfortunately, before Judy had the opportunity to discard the weapon and make a formal apology for her rudeness, the girl turned to her and let out an ear-piercing screech.

"No, shh. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" Judy tried to move towards her but quickly realized the knife wasn't instilling in her guest any confidence. "Calm down!"

The brunette covered her chest with both hands and hunched over, panting. It was very clear that she hadn't expected anyone other than Quinn to be there and Judy almost felt disappointed that her presence in her own house was surprising. Unless, it was, that this was one of the hooligans who her daughter met up with when she sneaked out at night to smoke cigarettes and do God knows what else. Then, she felt particularly angry that this complete stranger would barge into her home unannounced.

Or rather, mildly announced.

After watching the girl compose herself, Judy gathered that this one could not be one of those dark-clothed, unkempt _ladies_ that clucked outside the front of the house at night to gain Quinn's attention. Her plain blue capri-pants and orange v-neck cardigan had too much festivity for those girls who looked as down in the doldrums as her own daughter that she assumed, with much confidence, that this girl had to know Quinn from the Glee Club. It was the only extracurricular of her daughter's she knew had these average-looking teens, as opposed to the Cheerio's or the Yearbook Club, where looks definitely encouraged popularity and status in their positions.

Nonetheless it was still surprising to see whoever this was show up in her kitchen.

"I'm—"

"Quinn's mom!" She seemed to be bursting with effort as she crossed the room and took Judy's hand in her own, shaking it. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Although, I've seen you before at Regional's. One year go, I believe now. I'm a little disappointed we had to meet under such aggressive circumstances."

"Well, you are in my house...miss?"

She beamed. "Rachel Berry, Mrs. Fabray. Co-captain of McKinley High Glee Club and teammate of your daughter." There was a little hesitation as she added the last part about Quinn that told Judy even Rachel, a practical stranger to her, knew that her daughter's position in any form of society at the moment was debatable.

"How nice to meet you, Rachel. Please, call me Judy."

If Rachel's smile couldn't have gotten bigger at that moment, it certainly tried.

"I have to ask, though. Did Quinn invite you over?"

"Oh!" She appeared to have completely forgotten that she was not standing in her own house, wherever that might be, unabashedly staring at her friend's mother. "You see, not exactly."

That definitely sparked interest as every word out of Rachel's mouth continued to enthrall her.

"I have been _desperately_ trying to initiate a summer glee club meeting, seeing as we again lost to our greatest rivals in competition, in order to remain as closely bonded as we have become over the past year. Surely, several months apart could do nothing good for our team dynamic, so I have been calling and calling and _calling_ each member until I could find a date that all agreed—forcibly or not in some of their cases, including, but not limited to, Santana. Who I might mention tries to stonewall me at every opportunity—" there was a little flourish of her hand as she veered back onto her original thought (Judy was in awe) "—fortunately we have all found a date, except the one person who continues to ignore every call, so much so that I would not be surprised if her phone had been disconnected all summer."

When it appeared it was her time to speak, Judy almost blushed in embarrassment that her daughter had been so rude to this cute, but mildly inordinate girl who simply wanted a little bit of communication about a club that clearly meant a lot to her. Quinn hadn't been raised to be so thoughtless, and even if she had become rude—Judy wasn't afraid to admit that about her—it didn't excuse her inability to return a single phone call. It angered her almost.

Pie-making discarded, Judy finally sat down the knife that she had been holding through the entire conversation, and brushed her hands against her apron. It got most of the flour off and she flanked Rachel, leading her towards the stairs.

Ignoring the instinct that told her this would not end well, Judy gathered her wits and gracefully went up the stairs. She could feel Rachel hot on her heels and hoped that by the will of God, Quinn would try to not be so rude in the presence of her friend. She knew it was a long shot.

They arrived in front of the plain white door, and even though it was her house, Judy knocked three times in the center of the wood. The feeling reverberated around the hallway and she hoped inside the room it did the same in case the girl was sleeping, as she often seemed to be this late in the afternoon. Luckily, there was a rustling around, and what sounded like a window shutting heavily against its frame, until pounding footsteps approached the other side of the door.

Judy smelled the acrid stench before she saw it as Quinn appeared on the other side of the door. She heard a gasp come from behind her as she saw the long, wispy strands of blonde hair scattered across the girl's shoulders where they had haphazardly fallen after being chopped off. _Chopped_ because that was the only way to describe the varying lengths of Quinn's hair after she had decidedly taken scissors to it what could only have been minutes before.

The smell however, had to be from what Quinn had in her plastic-gloved right hand.

Before, Judy could even think of a reprimand that would support the dread she felt seeing Quinn's hair, her daughter's face changed. It moved from an aloof coolness, to the all-too-familiar smirk that had retained almost as much of its animosity as it had before Quinn came home with Finn to tell them that she was pregnant. That smirk, which frightened Rachel if the inches she had moved closer to the end of the hallway were anything to go on, transported Judy back in time. To a time when her husband had shouted insults at her from over his dinner plate about the daughter _she _had raised. But even if it moved her back in time, Quinn had obviously moved forward.

Metaphorically as well as physically.

"Berry," Quinn buzzed. She held the hand that housed the bottle out playfully and added, "Wanna do the honors?"

The pink dye spurted out of the tip as Quinn quirked her eyebrow.

* * *

**A/N: So I'm diving back into FF after finishing up my last story. I'm very nervous/excited about it. Let me know if anyone would want to see more of this. Also, what do you think, Quinn's POV or Rachel's? I haven't decided yet. Thanks :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 1**

* * *

It had been 1 year, 2 months, and 13 days since she had held the baby. Quinn didn't want to know the name since knowing the sex had already done enough damage. The nurses didn't help either when they plopped the wailing mess of fresh limbs and blood onto her lap after she heard Mercedes whisper "praise" and the tearing pain turned into a dull throb.

She went into the delivery room with the strict self-preserving thought, _I cannot love her. _How wrong could she be? From the second she spotted the almond shape of her eyes and the familiar brown hair of the boy standing not ten feet away, Quinn was in love. Her baby girl. Her _Beth_ if Puck had had his wish. She had one long stare deep into those eyes and tried to effuse all of her emotions into the back of the baby girl's brain so one day, when she was old enough to wonder, she would know that her mother—biological of course—loved her without question. Nothing would stop her from sending that message.

Except the nurse who just as quickly swiped the baby back out of her arms.

Puck and Mercedes followed the doctors out of the room and Quinn was left alone with the mother she hadn't seen in 4 months. Letters could only bridge enough for a hug and one gentle pat on her sweat-soaked head. Safe to say that very little had changed in the Fabray house in terms of intimacy; with her father supposedly out of the picture—she really didn't know if it was a ploy of her mother's at the time—she wished they could develop a stronger bond; the type that she saw on TV shows and in her favorite books.

The outlook was bleak.

So it had been 1 year, 2 months, and 13 days if she didn't include _that_ day when Quinn sat on the windowsill of her bedroom, a lit cigarette between her teeth, and both hands tearing the sleeves off her favorite t-shirts. She had gone thrifting with Melissa, the self-proclaimed leader of her new group of friends, and had picked out at least thirty shirts that needed modification before school started. Quinn had come to the simple conclusion that she had worked entirely too hard for her body to let it go to waste. That meant showing as much of her toned arms and thighs as she could.

What it came down to was simple. Quinn knew her reputation had taken more than its fair share of hits over the past two years. Glee club, her pregnancy, and losing the one title she had worked her entire school career to achieve—prom queen—demolished what she saw as her claim to fame. When all was said and done she would have a few crowns, captainship of a nationally-ranked cheerleading squad, and a high-profile boyfriend to take her far away from the pit of Lima, Ohio.

How quickly they had been stripped off her. Now, she decided, it was time for a whole new reputation. If she was resigned to spending the rest of her life in Lima, she would burn through her youth with cigarettes and hair dye. Real estate and husband-hunting would have to come later. Much, much, later if she was being honest with herself. At the end of the last school year she had said goodbye to glee club with every intention of never returning and her life had been purged of all the pressure that had compelled her to get drunk and pregnant, kick her friends to the curb, and then finally slap the one person who had always tried to do right by her.

Rachel Berry hadn't been making her transition to isolation easy. The captain of glee club, ever diligent and self-important, had spent at least—by Quinn's estimation—an hour of her time recording voicemail messages on her cell phone. They ranged from peaceful protests of Quinn's silence to Rachel's indicting drawl about responsibility and the necessity for "consistency." As if she had any semblance of consistency, Quinn continued to ignore the calls and the texts, refusing to wonder where the girl had gotten her phone number. None of her friends could be trusted anymore to save her from the useless diatribe of opinions that was Rachel Berry.

When June turned to July and Quinn decided that it was time for her to step up the image of her recklessness, Rachel showed up again, this time more invasive as she appeared behind her mother shocked at her newly-cut hair. In typical _them_-fashion, Quinn offered a snide comment and watched Rachel scurry away, down the stairs and out the door. As she slammed her door shut on her mother, she accepted that she would always be menacing and hoped that it would work in her favor when it came time to confront the rest of the club she had once considered a family.

Sitting on the windowsill for too long sent a stabbing pain through her spine and she switched to lying on her back, one side against the wall in order to keep her arm up and the cigarette out the window. Even if she couldn't look her mom in the eye she didn't want to permanently stink up the house with smoke. It was the least she could do since Judy took her back in after the Jones' insisted she reconnect with her family.

_Rachel Berry_, Quinn thought, breathing smoke into her lungs. She imagined the accusations she would get for "damaging" her voice if Rachel could see her there on the floor at that moment. If Rachel would accuse her of anything, though, it would probably be some form of sabotage for not returning her calls or joining in any of the summer glee club "rehearsals." Quinn could just barely find it in herself to care.

A niggling, fleeting, passing notion of a miniscule feeling.

She felt guiltier before she took into account the times they actually used her whether it was in practice or in actual competition. Once she had been featured in competition and the rest she had sung in the group numbers. When she looked from that perspective it would have made more sense for her to rejoin Cheerios than the New Directions. Unfortunately, the decision had nothing to do with whether or not she got a solo—she didn't think she could be that petty—but rather involved the people she would have to face if she showed up for those meetings anymore.

She had given it one more school year in the hopes that she could turn it around and make it matter. Instead she saw all the faces of the people who she had hurt as they crossed her path and how little they wanted to do with her, even while sitting two rows back. She could toy around and manipulate them into helping her find her way back, but that had the opposite effect. They all still saw her as the selfish cheerleader who would sell them out at the drop of a scholarship-donning hat.

All of them except…

"Rachel Berry," Quinn said aloud, reading the name off the screen of her white Blackberry as the text tone chirped through the room. The noise disappeared as fast as she had the message open.

(7:34 PM) Rachel B: Quinn.

It was different than the last sixteen messages she had erased as soon as she was finished reading them. Quinn could almost feel the weight behind this one, the reluctance as well as frustration. She had spent enough time with Rachel to understand her many and rapidly-changing moods.

Quinn looked at the timestamp and saw she still had two hours before the Skanks would show up at her window, throwing rocks that were rather too large at her window to get her attention. It left two hours of boredom, probably laying on the floor of her bedroom and listening to the soft music vibrating from the floor below her where her mother was entertaining a friend.

Or it could be two hours of taunting, her favorite pastime.

Opening a new message, she stared at her thumbs on the keys. For the first time, she felt incapable of nasty threats or vicious insults that would end the conversation before it began. She couldn't tell if it had to do with her increasing laziness to bother with what she had once enjoyed, or if it had to do with the fact that she felt alone as she lay on the rough carpeting, her access to human communication finally open.

She could talk to Melissa, or Jen, or Vicky, but it just wasn't the same. The last time she hadn't felt alone long preceded those girls. They were her way to pass the time and an excursion into her new lifestyle—not friends, not comforting.

Before she could type out a response, the phone buzzed again.

(7:48 PM) Rachel B: Please, Quinn. This is ridiculous.

She finally had an opening to return their familiar repartee.

(7:48 PM) What's ridiculous, Berry?

Quinn sucked in a breath and threw the cigarette out the window, shutting it and sitting back up against the wall, her head against the wooden frame.

(7:49 PM) Rachel B: Do you know how long it's been?

_1 year, 2 months, and almost 14 days._

(7:51 PM) How long?

(7:52 PM) Rachel B: Almost a month, Quinn. You could have been dead for all we knew.

She snickered.

(7:52 PM): That could be avoided.

Quinn could imagine the gratuitous eye roll she had just earned herself.

(7:52 PM) Rachel B: What could be avoided?

(7:55 PM): Just stop caring. Then we'll be even.

A few long minutes passed before her screen lit up again, this time instead it was a call. She watched the blank picture ID tremble as the phone vibrated and again, she let it go to voicemail.

_Nice try, Berry._

(8:01 PM) Rachel B: Really?

(8:03 PM): Really.

(8:04 PM) Rachel B: Is this making you feel better? I thought we were past this. Friends, even.

Quinn _couldn't_ imagine the face that accompanied such a heartfelt confession. She hadn't seen or heard one of those in a long time to remember what expressions meant that you were sincerely hurt by what the other person was doing. Her life had been full of turned-away emotions, hiding what got to her and lashing back out at the appropriate time. In that way she thought of her and Rachel as kindred spirits—she had heard her fair share of crying from behind the wings in the auditorium and from outside the bathroom stalls. They were both smart enough to know that emotions were weakness, but where she had been hardened and conditioned, Rachel was still naïve and trusting.

It caught her by surprise the more she realized how well she knew the girl who was without a doubt her nemesis at McKinley. She reconciled that must have been the reason she had learned the inside and outside of Rachel Berry so well.

(8:10 PM): We aren't.

(8:10 PM) Rachel B: Friends or past bickering?

(8:15 PM): Take your pick. Is there a reason you wanted my attention tonight?

She came back to the weighty first text and what felt like the start of a _real_ conversation until she had antagonized Rachel into a corner.

(8:18 PM) Rachel B: Actually, yes. I wanted to know what your plans for school-shopping were?

Quinn balked as she read the message over and over to discern the meaning she wasn't finding.

(8:18 PM): My plans for school shopping?

(8:20 PM) Rachel B: Pencils, pens, notebooks. That kind of thing. For school.

Mystified would be an understatement as Quinn could only laugh.

(8:22 PM): What the hell, Rachel?

(8:22 PM) Rachel B: What?

She had had enough. Without thinking she pressed the green phone button and held it against her ear, listening to the ringing. Almost instantly after the first pass, Rachel picked up.

"Yes?"

"How does this work? I tell you we _aren't_ friends and you still ask me to go out and shop together." It all sounded incredibly more ludicrous when she said it aloud.

There was a hint of a snicker from the other girl. "Well, if you must know, I sincerely want to see you before school starts up again."

That was _too_ forward for even Rachel.

"Not gonna happen."

"Quinn, please."

"Fine! We aren't friends," Rachel shouted. "You can still at least be a human decent being."

Quinn sat forward off the window frame and planted her elbows into her thighs, hard. "I didn't even do anything to you!"

Even louder, Rachel added, "You're the only person who has been remotely sincere to me in this town, Quinn! I really think you need to talk to someone! _Anyone_!"

"You're nuts if you think that person should be you!" Quinn pushed the 'END' button and pounded her phone into the carpet.

Quinn sulked into her legs, face contorted in frustration. She had spent the last month working on her mellow demeanor and all it took was hearing Rachel's voice to send her back into pure agitation.

Cutting off her trance, a rock ticked against the window pane and she didn't have to look to know who was waiting for her. She lifted the window open and felt the cool, night breeze drift against her chest, making her turn back and grab a dark hoodie from the hamper next to her television. As she pulled it over her arms and climbed outside, she ignored the blinking light of her cell phone that meant she had another text message and shut the window behind her.

* * *

**Thank you! :)**


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